The Light of Day
by SeekerAstria
Summary: Harry needs Bob's help on a case. Well, sort of, anyway, as a bad misunderstanding leads to a much nicer outcome. TVverse.


Disclaimer - _The Dresden Files _is the property of Jim Butcher and the SciFi Channel

A/N - Here be fluff and niceness. A bit silly, but fun. Do not be fooled by the opening.

_The Light of Day_

The equations hung in the air in shimmering golden light. Various symbols denoted the mortal world, human life and the transformations necessary to make one invisible. It was a matter of perspective, to make flesh and clothing imperceptible to human eyes. It was a perspective however, that the writer of the equations could not attain. The lines vanished as Bob waved a hand through them with a despairing sigh.

Not for the first time in recent weeks, he deplored his lack of a mortal body. Well, no, that was an understatement. He constantly _hated _his state of being. It was just that he had learnt, over the centuries, to deal with it. He could read books, with time and effort, he could 'write' as he had been doing and was infinitely glad that his memory and, if he might claim so himself, not insubstantial intellect had been fully retained in this abhorrent spectral form. Subconsciously, he knew these particular aspects of his half-life were simply the acts of the Council twisting the proverbial knife; perception without interaction was its own kind of torture. Hrothbert of Bainbridge was nothing if not opportunistic. If he had certain capabilities, then he would be damned – again – if he would not employ them to his advantage.

Even so, he brooded as he cast a glance around Harry's lab, it was _frustrating_. Here, there was a pile of books which had fallen from the desk onto the floor. They had been there all night and Harry would probably ignore them once he got back from his meeting with Lieutenant Murphy. And if the boy had been given a case to work on, they would probably sit there in the dark gathering dust until Harry decided to clean up. That would be at least a fortnight, then.

Bob turned back to where the equations had been. Muttering arcane curses under his breath at the Council and the world in general, he returned to his skull with a glimmer of light which brightened the candle-lit room.

-----

Bob could pinpoint the exact day when Harry realised that even when in his skull, the ghost could still sense something of what was going on around him. It was a stilted and distorted perception, though, as he could only and hear very little. One day, he had heard enough to know that the then twelve year-old Harry was most displeased at having to do his mathematics homework. Somewhere along the line, the boy had assumed that being taught magic had meant he wouldn't have to learn 'boring stuff' any more. Thus, Bob was vaguely amused to hear Harry sitting in the study – believing he could not be heard – denouncing his teacher as 'cranky', 'stiff' and 'old'. Well, the last one was but a statement of fact, but the child spoke it as though it were a great insult to his better judgement on what Harry himself counted as 'fun'. He had been unimpressed when Bob had manifested himself in an exceptionally showy display of smoke and added sparks and had ordered that Harry complete twice the normal amount of homework, including researching ghosts and similar otherworldly spirits.

Now, just when Bob had come around to re-considering the invisibility formula, he heard the door to the lab slam shut so hard he was sure it made his skull rattle. Oh, _damn_.  
"Bob? Bob!" Harry's voice was loud with anger and impatience. Sighing inwardly, Bob left his skull.  
"Good morning, Harry." He greeted with a kind smile, only half-hoping it would have the desired effect of getting the man to lower his voice. Harry only grunted, and paced over to the bookshelf, absently but roughly pushing several books aside as though looking for something.  
"We've got a case." He grated after a moment's rummaging, still sounding as though he gotten up on the wrong side of bed that morning. Perhaps, Bob wondered, his mood had had something to do with having no-one in bed with him at the time.  
"So your friend Murphy found another poor soul in need of your help?" He queried.  
"Yeah, yeah, somethin' like that."  
Bob raised his eyebrows, expecting more information. Harry scowled and jerked a thumb impatiently at the skull, still in pride of place upon the desk.  
"I _told_ you. A case. Get in your skull, ghost!"  
Bob's eyes narrowed, but Dresden appeared not to notice his irritation. Well, if _that_ was the way of it….

-----

Now Bob was officially, what was the phrase? Oh, yes "pissed off". Not truly angered, nor mildly perturbed, but a crude medium that made him wish, not for the first time, that he could knock some sense into his ex-pupil and current guardian. He would be the first to admit he had a high tolerance for the boy's antics. They wouldn't have been together as long as they had unless they had learnt to live with one another. It was a quaint relationship, but one which sufficed for both involved. For good or ill, Bob knew – though he would not admit it to Harry's face – that the young Dresden was the first person in centuries to treat him like a fellow human being. Unfortunately, that included annoying him and Bob _allowing_ himself to be annoyed by the irascible child, and expressing that annoyance whenever the mood took him.

He had 'sat' in his skull barely registering that he was being moved far from the office. He heard the rumbling mechanics of what he assumed to be a car, and the cacophony of chatter from any number of people out on the street. He was fairly sure they were still outside when a lull in the sounds around him was enough for Bob to estimate they had finally reached their destination. And then the command had come;

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge I summon you."  
Bob _flinched_, or at least would have, had he been able. As it was, it was a mental backing away from the words he could not truly ignore. It was not the words that bothered him – though one of these days he would have to correct Harry's pronunciation of Old English – but the one who had spoken them. The occasions were very rare that Harry resorted to the official, formal speech which the old sorcerer was cursed to obey. Not least because the first time Harry had heard Bob's original name, he'd thought it was amusing and had dubbed him 'Bob' after being under his tutelage after a matter of two months. Most of the time now, Harry achieved the acquired effect through his tone or simpler words. Such was their relationship that Bob didn't listen to him out of mere obligation, not any more. And so, to hear those words again spoken dispassionately, it _hurt_. And at that realisation, Bob promptly lost all patience with the man.

He rose up in front of Harry, taking slight malicious satisfaction that his expression and the drama of his entrance caused a flicker of shock to cross Harry's face. Several inches separated them in height, but now Harry positively cowered back as Bob spoke, tone laced with his humiliation and anger;  
"Of all the _nerve_, boy! What, pray, have I done to deserve your arrogant whining and _tantrums_ and-" He stopped, but not because he was ranting. Suddenly, Bob became aware of his surroundings. He stood upon green grass, he looked down to see it was vivid under the bright summer sun. Looking further around, Bob saw trees, their leaves being blown by a wind he could not feel yet the sight alone struck him with a sudden delight. Birds swooped overhead, and Bob drew a breath in surprise at the creatures' seeming effortless mastery of the air, a kind of beauty in itself had one the desire to look for it He had almost forgotten all of this….

"Um. Bob?"  
It was a moment before Bob acknowledged that Harry had spoken, so enthralled he was by the simple beauty around him. Nature in daylight. The world _alive_. Harry stood before him, head bowed, eyes flickering between the ground and his teacher's own. He looked for all the world like an over-grown schoolboy, chastened and anxious.  
"Yes?" Bob answered, somewhat weakly, knowing and not caring that his eyes were wide like a child's, and that his expression had altered from one of dire anger to shameless awe.  
"Sorry." Harry apologised. "You look kinda'….shocked. I just figured you'd _like_ it. I, I…" Harry was babbling now, and Bob was acutely aware he was missing something terribly important.  
"You….thought I'd like it?" He repeated dully.  
"Well, yes. I reckoned it'd be a nice surprise for you, to take you out here. I didn't want you working it out easily, so I made like I was in a bad mood…"  
Oh, so _that _was it. Bob raised his eyebrows and nodded in understanding, too dumbstruck to do anything else.  
"And you thought-" Harry sighed,  
"And I _thought_…." Bob sighed too, raising his hands up exasperation, dimly aware that as he did so, a stray leaf slid through one ghostly hand. He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. Around him he heard wind in the trees and the distant sound of running water. He stood in the light of day and in its clarity realised what he had said.  
"I am….truly sorry, Harry." Bob spoke after a minute or so, knowing that though he had said very little, it had been enough to shock and perhaps even frighten his friend. As Harry opened his mouth to speak, Bob felt compelled to continue,  
"No, no, let me finish. This morning I was…_frustrated_. I misinterpreted your actions took my anger out on you. That is inexcusable, and I am so _very_ sorry, Harry."  
For a moment, Harry regarded him in silence, his gaze sweeping over him, the formal dark clothes that, the normal proud bearing now lessened, humbled as Bob was by the comprehension of his mistake.  
"It wasn't your fault, Bob. I should've known you'd might take that act badly. I….hope this makes it a bit better?" Harry waved a hand to illustrate the park they stood in, a cheerful smile, glorious to Bob's eyes, upon his face. "See? We got grass, errm, and paths. They're made of concrete, though. Not so nice to look at."  
"Water?" Bob asked, wondering at the sound just on the edge of his hearing.  
"Yes….a little waterfall thing over there," Harry indicated some way to the right of them. He continued to point out the attractions of this park which most others would consider unremarkable. But not for Bob, not in this company; Harry's enthusiasm and manner were infectious, and after a while Bob found himself smiling too.

-----

"What _is_ that?" Bob enquired curiously, looking at the odd cone in Harry's hand. Harry licked the object for a moment, than raised an eyebrow.  
"Ice-cream cone. You've seen one before, right?"  
Bob nodded, looking over to the gaily painted stall Harry had just walked from, with children now crowded around it.  
"When you were younger, yes, I think so. Whatever possessed you to buy one of those things now? They look terribly _messy_."  
"One, it's summer. Summer means ice-cream, if you have kids."  
"Neither of us-"  
"Ah, ah, _or_ if you're on a day out. Which we are, right?"  
"Yes…" Bob conceded, not entirely convinced of the validity of the argument. He had a suspicion Harry was doing such things here for his benefit. So he, who was normally confined to a few square feet of space, could come as close to the world as he could. When it was _Harry_, such experiences were more than worth while.  
They were sitting – approximately in Bob's case – on a bench next to a lake. Ducks swam on it, and children threw pieces of bread to them. In some cases Bob thought they had less interest in feeding the things and instead were more intent on using them as target-practice. A little girl with pig-tails was being away from the water's edge by her mother, after she had joyously dumped a bag of crusts into the water all at once, which had led to a flurry of activity from the birds and the mother's complaints of "a waste!"

Bob turned his attention to the bag Harry was carrying. An old, brown, shapeless thing he had brought it along for the sole purposes of carrying the skull. So close to his skull, Bob felt the invisible chains tug at his soul. He would never tell Harry, but such proximity made the manacles upon his wrists prickle most unpleasantly, like a shadow of an old pain.Harry must have noticed Bob's looked, for he abandoned the end of his ice-cream, dropping it into the bin beside the bench and asked, "You okay?"  
"I'm fine Harry. _More_ than fine." Bob answered, feeling in his heart that he did so sincerely. "But…."  
Harry nodded, prompting him to continue so Bob did so,  
"Why did you do this, today?"  
Harry did not answer immediately, instead he looked out over the water. Then, a smile quirked his lips and he turned back to Bob.  
"You don't get out often enough."  
"You don't say?" Bob grinned, chuckling at the simplicity of it.  
"You are forced to stay in my office, chained to this _thing_." As he spoke, Harry slapped the bag containing the offending artefact.  
"It isn't right. Not right at all, you being punished like this. Can't touch or taste or feel."  
From anyone else, the words would just rub salt into an old wound. Yet not for the first time that day, Bob felt enlivened to hear such a thing, to be reminded that in all the world there was one person, just one, who cared. He knew he was undeserving of that pleasure. He had done nothing to deserve the sympathy which filled Harry's tone as he looked over at him, or the merest hint of bitterness at the word 'punished', as though he of all people took Bob's fate as a personal affront. He cared for Harry, that he could not deny, but had once abandoned the hope that such feelings could be reciprocated. Not for _him_, a soul once as hollow as the skull which shackled it to the earth. As they said, old habits died hard.  
"Will you just drop it, okay?"  
Harry had raised his voice now, and Bob realised he had been ignoring him. "Drop what?" he wondered, nonplussed.  
Harry waggled a reproving finger in his face, "You've got that look again. That _look_ you get on your face and I just _know_ it means you're beating yourself up about something. Pointlessly, I might add, 'cos d'you think I would have taken you out here if…if I didn't you deserved it? Didn't _need_ it?"  
Bob opened his mouth, than shut it again. Harry nodded in satisfaction.  
"That was it, wasn't it?"  
Bob nodded wearily. It wasn't often he was forced to admit something to Harry. Gods knew the last few occasions hadn't gone down well. Harry held up a hand, gesturing with thumb and fore-finger held apart. "You think you can sort of leave that all aside for just a _little_ bit?"  
Bob looked at the hand, and looked into Harry's eager face. How could he disagree?  
Bob lent closer towards Harry and brought his own hand up until it was next to Harry's own, mimicking grasping it. If Harry was put out by this sudden show of closeness, he did not show it. Bob said nothing in response to the request, not trusting himself not to betray his true reaction.

-----

As the day began to draw to a close, Bob knew he would remember it for as long as-, well, he would remember it for a _long_ time. They had walked around the lake, their easy pace, with Bob walking just to one side of Harry and his bag, broken only when they passed a woman pushing a buggy and Bob had to hope the woman hadn't noticed he'd passed through the empty thing. Fortunately the woman's attention had been on her child walking ahead. Between Harry and Bob, the topic of conversation had changed from what it was Murphy had _really_ wanted to see Harry about to Bob talking with great enthusiasm about what the world had been like when he was alive. Harry knew little of his mortal life, and in reality Bob told him only a few things. The memories of the world he had once perceived in so many ways seemed so distant. And yet, for a moment as he saw his friend's slightly bemused reaction to his anecdotes, Bob felt closer to the world than he had done in a long time. Now, as the sun began to set, they walked back towards the park entrance. Bob looked into the sky, the clouds gathering in the afternoon light. The pale blue would soon fade into twilight and night would close over the city. All would continue, life flowing unabated, in all its forms. Bob smiled and followed Harry towards the car. All was well.

The End


End file.
